Mother of a Changeling Child
by NostalgicSchemer
Summary: Sometimes, even with the fairytale ending, it isn't happy. Standing over the empty cradle, her strong self collapsed in on itself as she fell to her knees, her face in her hands as she wept.


Stories from the days of old often had a chance of becoming legend. Misfortune to teach the children to behave, stories of heroes who encouraged children and even adults to do what they were supposed to. Tales of romance overcoming trials of hardships and binding lands together, happily ever afters that gave children dreams of a brighter future when oft their worlds were filled with nightmares.

These were the stories she would have told her children, if she had any. Her blue eyes gazed forlornly at the cradle within the corner as she rocked slowly in her rocking chair, her form quivering slightly. The years had been kind to her, rounding her roughness down to a finesse that her mother had once wished she had possessed. Her wit was still sharp as a knife's edge, as quick as an arrow loosed through the air from her very fingers, but not as outspoken after years of disappointment.

Her rocking stopped and she rose from the chair, crossing the rock laden floor she'd requested of her husband to remind her of home. He'd given in, watched as delight filled her eyes surrounded by her unruly red hair, then laughed when she launched herself at him, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck as his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her against him.

Their marriage had been something strained at the beginning, not for lack of affection on either part, but from their heritage. Bridging the gap had taken quite some time, and their heads still butted. But she had become withdrawn over the years, locking herself in her mind more and more while he attended to the dragon hatchlings each year. She saw the longing look in his eyes, though there was no blame in his soft green eyes when he gazed her.

Standing over the empty cradle, her strong self collapsed in on itself as she fell to her knees, her face in her hands as she wept. The only time she'd been with child, she'd lost the wee bairn, and she'd gone against her mother's advice, taken Angus out for a ride and suffered from a fall that not only cost the baby's barely formed life, but her ability to carry any more.

She only wept harder when arms wrapped around her body, rocking her as a gentle voice filled her ears. "Shh, Merida. It isn't your fault." Her husband murmured into her red hair. "It was an accident, nothing more. I still love you, my wife, nothing will change that." These were words she'd heard over the years, but there was no solution on his part. He needed an heir to keep the peace between their lands, to raise and teach to be a strong viking. She needed an heir to pass her own heritage onto, else it would fall into the shadows of time, forgotten. The only solution she'd tried to get him to do was to find a surrogate mother, one whom would give the child up to Merida to raise. And Hiccup had been against it adamantly, too set in his own, seemingly outlandish ways to upset her by taking another into their marriage bed when she was still very much alive. She'd argued that if she couldn't carry his child, she was dead already.

The months passed and she seemed to get better, as she did every year when summer approached, when they'd travel the land from his home to hers. She seemed even more like her old self, climbing the mast of the massive ship and standing where the crow's nest would be on other ships in the fleet, giving some of the crew near heart attacks as she swung like the wild princess she had been, before her marriage to Hiccup, though the viking only watched fondly as she expressed her happiness to be in her childhood home. His gaze turned to the shore to where her brothers were awaiting beside their aging parents, her mother leaning against her husband.

It seemed Merida couldn't even wait long enough for the ship to get close to the docks and dove from the top of the mast into the water. Hiccup could see the way her mother stiffened and bit back a chuckle as he crossed his arms over his chest that had broadened over the years. He looked at Toothless beside him and the Nightfury rolled his eyes and snuffed at the human woman's antics, though his large, nearly glowing yellow eyes spoke volumes of the relief even the dragon felt to see his best friend's wife looking like she used to.

Hiccup looked towards the shore again as it neared and he smiled as he stepped onto the dock, met with the fierce back-pats that weren't so very different from the ones his own people greeted one another with after long voyages. He kept an eye on his wife, however, worried for her mental state. She seemed fine, back in the somewhat magical lands of her Scotland, and he managed to relax.

As with every year, a feast marked their arrival, the dining hall filled with laughter and hunting stories between his Vikings and her Northsmen, knew that the peace between the two cultures was less political now, and more of an alliance of actual agreement. Stoick and Fergus were telling their old stories again, riling each other up as they ate and drank, and Hiccup finally allowed himself to relax.

Elinor was talking with her daughter as she rocked her newest grandson, and Merida felt again how she lacked as a woman and a Queen. She did her best to hide it, though her mother was perceptive as always. Elinor lifted her head from watching the bairn, looked her daughter in the eye with such a clarity that it startled Merida.

"Dae ye min' th' standin' stones, whaur we mended uir relationship?" Elinor asked her daughter, reaching a hand out to brush an unruly curl from her cheek. "There's still magic thaur, Ah hear. ye coods possibly fin' whit ye seek thaur."

Merida's eyes widened at the offer, her heart racing at the hope her mother had given her. "Ur ye sure, mom?" She asked.

The corners of Elinor's wise eyes crinkled as she bent forward and kissed her daughter's forehead. "Thaur isnae harm in tryin', Merida. thaur isnae harm in tryin'." She answered. She watched as Merida stood quickly, excusing herself as she headed for her room. She prepared herself for her ride, grabbing her bow as a precaution, wrapped her cloak tightly around her as she stole herself outside to the night.

Merida dragged Angus from his stall, mounting him easily despite his size, and set off at a gallop as a wind picked up. She knew the path by heart, it was where she'd saved her mother, where she'd later met Hiccup and Toothless when a storm sent them too far from their course to get home, where she'd confessed to her husband about her affections towards him, her desire to be his, and hopefully where she'd be able to right the wrong she'd done to him—done to herself.

When the familiar stones came into view, she pushed Angus a bit more before she tugged his reigns and dismounted. She approached slowly, watching the wisps dance around the stones to music she couldn't hear, though they slowly twinkled out as she broke through the barrier. She turned around once, twice, before she fell to her knees.

"Stoatin an' bonnie queen ay th' fairies, please grant mah wish. Ah wish fur a son, a wee lil fur myself an' mah guidman tae cherish an' fill th' emptiness in uir li'es. Ah tryst we will caur fur th' bairn fur as lang as we bide, an' Ah will gie mah ain life in return if ye woods lit me."

The wind seemed to pick up around them momentarily as she continued her bargaining, offering everything she could in exchange for her babe. Tears trickled down her cheeks when she heard nothing, and bowed her head. She gasped when she felt a tender hand upon her head and lifted her chin to look into the warm gaze of the Queen.

"I have heard your wish, my child," The Queen started. "And I will grant it. When you leave here at dawn, you will have your small son to care for."

Merida almost couldn't believe her ears, so much hope held in her blue eyes. "Thenk ye, yer highness." she breathed out. As the sun began to rise, a child was brought to her, wrapped in fabric so soft and sheer that she worried he would be cold. She cradled the babe close to her heart and wrapped her cloak around herself and him as she headed away, not noticing the stones darkening.

When she arrived back at the castle, she sought her husband to show him the perfection that was their new son. Hiccup's eyes filled with tears of pride when he heard what his proud and brave wife had done. He gathered the two of them in his arms, brushing his finger down the babe's cheek. "I love you, Merida," he whispered into her ear.

There was a feast the next day as well, one that started from the morning and didn't end until the night threatened to turn to day again, all for the young prince that united the two different peoples into one.

Merida couldn't believe how whole she felt as she rocked the small boy in her arms, humming the song her mother sang to her during storms when she was small. She fed him what she could with a cloth and some sugared milk, and he seemed content to eat that.

Years passed quickly, it seemed, laughter and tears abound. Hiccup seemed worried that the babe wasn't growing at all, and confronted his wife about it one night after they'd put their son to bed. Merida hushed his worries with soft kisses. "He's half fairy, mah loove. he's boond tae graw slowly." She said softly as she slowly undressed him, a rekindled passion in her eyes as she kissed him again.

However, more years passed, and their son hadn't aged a day. Merida grew frustrated with his lack of aging, though she kept it to herself. Ten years had passed, and he was still a babe. Surely even fairies aged a little in ten years, right?

Upon their next trip to Scotland, she clutched her son to her chest and headed once again to the stones. The air was even still as she pleaded for the Fairy Queen to return, make her child age so that she could have the joy of watching him grow, hearing him speak, marry and become a father, a grandfather, himself. Silence met her. The stones had lost their magic, it seemed, at least for the time, and nothing would wake them. Resigned, she headed back to talk to Hiccup.

He gathered her into his arms, conflicted feelings in his deep green eyes. Merida felt like she'd failed him all over again, though she tried to remain strong. "Aam sorry, mah guidman. Ah meant tae gie ye an heir wi' whom we coods raise. Insteid, I've burdened ye wi' an eternal lil fa will aye need uir attention."

"Shh.. Merida, I don't blame you." Hiccup whispered as he kissed her lovingly. "I love you, my wife, I do. Never doubt that. And I will not leave you, nor our son, regardless of whether or not he changes,"

Time was cruel, however. More years passed, Merida and Hiccup aged, while their son stayed an eternal babe. Merida watched her brothers' children grow and have children of their own, saw the pity they gave her. When she took their son in public, people murmured behind her back about her being a witch, grasped their children close. They murmured about her being a vampire who's child had been stolen, so she'd made a child who couldn't leave her. She paid no mind to these.

She held her son as they lowered her father's casket into the ground, rubbing soothing circles into his back while Hiccup wrapped an arm around her. Gray hairs were beginning to inject themselves into her red curls, and rumors spread again that this child was her grandchild instead, from some bastard child she'd had years prior.

Only two years passed before they buried her mother—next to her father—and she felt lost. She had lost the only one so like herself that she felt a piece of herself missing. She kissed her son's forehead as he slept peacefully in her arms.

Five years passed, and Stoick was laid to rest, sent off to Val Halla on a pyre, like his father before him. Hiccup had collapsed against her that night, crying the tears he couldn't allow himself to shed in front of everyone else. She held him, murmured soothingly into his ear.

Eventually, even her husband left her. They had lived a long, happy marriage, even childless aside from the fairy-babe they had taken care of. She stood silent, a rather sad sight when compared to her former youth. Only a few streaks of red stayed in her straighter white hair, and while age had been kind, she knew she was old. She saw it in the way people looked up to her for guidance, saw the disdain of people her own age as she held her son protectively to her. And while she had sent Hiccup off on a pyre, she'd requested to have a marker that she could visit when she felt the need, away from the village that had been her home for sixty-two years.

Toothless had left briefly to mourn for his best friend, though returned. Hiccup had asked him to take care of her, and Toothless would make sure she was protected, then he'd go for his own eternal slumber.

Sometimes, she dreamed. She dreamed she was young again, had born four children for her beloved husband. She dreamed that she was a grandmother to seven or eight—possibly even ten—children, who asked her about the peace that she and Hiccup had achieved. She dreamed she even got to hold great-grand children, rock them to sleep as she talked to her children and grandchildren.

And every morning she'd wake, lift her small son up into her weary arms and sit in the rocking chair Hiccup had built for her and rock him when he fussed, talked to him endlessly until her frail voice would give out. She'd hum her mother's lullaby to him as she fed him, wiped the excess milk from his soft cheek with an age-softened finger. Toothless would lay curled up at her feet, keeping watch over what remained of his family, his eyes closed in sleep that seemed to take him longer and longer to wake from.

Legends from long ago often hold some sort of truth to them, a lesson to be learned. Even as the Queen died, holding that babe in her arms, and even as the babe slowly evaporated into sunlight around her, bestowing one last warmth on her has her last breath left her, she couldn't find it in herself to regret her decision.

The building was eventually abandoned, though travelers that passed by could swear that if the moonlight was just right, the chair would start rocking, and a young woman with wild curly hair could be seen, holding a babe in her arms, as she rocked. If one listened closely enough, they'd hear the lullaby she sang up to her last day, could hear the cooing of the babe she rocked. Sometimes they'd see a tall brunette standing beside her, watching her with loving eyes. A black dragon sat beside the man, head tilting at the tiny babe she held, curious but cautious. And it would all be gone if they so much as blinked.

_The wind blows low and mournful  
Through the Strath of Dalnacreich  
Where once there lived a woman  
Who would a mother be  
For twelve long years a good man's wife  
but ne'er the cradle filled  
A mother of a changeling child from 'neath the fairy hill_

She traveled to the standing stones  
And crossed into the green  
Where all the host of elven folk  
were dancing there unseen  
Through the night she bargained  
with the Queen of fairies all  
who sent her home at dawning with a babe beneath her shawl

How their home was joyful  
with a son to call their own  
But soon they saw the years that passed  
would never make him grow  
The fairies would not answer her  
The stones were dark and slept  
A babe was all she asked for, and their promises they'd kept

The wind blows low and mournful  
Through the Strath of Dalnacreich  
Where once there lived a woman  
Who would a mother be  
For fifty years she rocked that babe  
it's said she rocks him still  
A mother of a changeling child from 'neath the fairy hill

_- Heather Dale, "Changeling Child"_


End file.
